Never tasted better
by beautifulwhensarcastic
Summary: Someone is sitting beside her bed, dirty camo and heavy gear is all she can recognize at first, his face is covered in dark camo painting, so it takes a moment for her concussion-strained mind to piece the puzzles toghether.


The ringing in her head slowly subsides, it's still slightly buzzing, but at least she's not dizzy anymore and all the other sounds reach her without any trouble. She's able to recognize muffled voices on the other side of the room and the so familiar sounds of typical hectic day outside. Keeping her eyes closed, afraid that the room will start spinning as soon as she opens them, Cath tries to gently lift herself up on the bed. The sharp pain that shoots through her left side makes her hiss and wince, but it's nothing she can't handle, just a few broken ribs, nothing that could stop her from getting back to work as soon as possible, though the doctors want her to stay for another checkup.

The series of explosions ruined half of the camp, hurting over twenty people, including six in critical condition, but they were lucky enough that no one died. At least for now. Catherine tried to reason with the doctors, her broken ribs and mild concussion seemed minor compared to the ensign that was bleeding internally on the bed beside her, but her own CO barked an order, stating that he needs her at her best, not fainting a few hours after coming back to work.

So she's obediently laying in bed, hoping the damage outside isn't as extensive as it seemed to be right after the explosion, although everything she remembers is dust and rubble.

Taking a deep breath, she decides it's time to finally open her eyes. The vision is blurry at first, only shades, spots of light and mix of sandy colours. Her eyes roam over the ceiling and walls, over the green curtain surrounding her bed, to the fuzzy silhouette on the right side of the bed.

Catherine blinks a few times, trying to regain the focus. Someone is sitting beside her bed, dirty camo and heavy gear is all she can recognize at first, his face is covered in dark camo painting, so it takes a moment for her concussion-strained mind to piece the puzzles toghether.

"Steve?" she winces at the pain in her ribs as she tries to sit up, but his hand gently pushes her back down. Her vision finally clears and she's able to recognize those beautiful hazel eyes, shimmering with worry as he looks down at her. The first thought that comes to Cath's mind is the doctor's wrong assessment of her state, because she's clearly hallucinating. Steve couldn't be here, he's on some classified black op.

Though his voice sounds so real and his fingers squeeze her hand tenderly, the gentle touch sending warm shivers down her spine, "Easy there, Lieutenant."

"Steve," she says his name again, corners of her mouth twitching in a small, grateful smile. Her injury isn't bad, nothing to really worry about, but his presence brings such a relief, she almost feels like crying.

"Hey," Steve smiles at her, entwining their fingers together, his thumb drawing small circles on her skin. The constant concern for each other is inscribed in their lifestyles, every day is hard, burdened with worry, which they both try to overcome and suppress, holding onto those few words over the phone every few weeks. But when news like that of the series of explosions bursting one of the camps in Kabul reach him, the panic is almost impossible to constrain.

"What are you doing here?" Cath frowns slightly. Not that she's not happy, not touched by his presence, but she's more than sure he shouldn't be even somewhere close. On the other hand, she has no idea about the location of his missions, who knows if he wasn't around the corner all this time.

"Officially I'm not here," he winks at her, "So you haven't seen me, got it?"

"Aye, aye. That's why you're in full camo?" she snorts, eyeing him up and down, "I'm not sure that the Rambo-look helps to hide in the field hospital, especially considering how people here love gossips. Pretty sure the nurses are thrilled to see a Snake Eater, you gonna be the topic of the week. You should've tried wearing scrubs."

"Smartass," Steve's grin reaches his eyes, igniting playful sparks in them. Seeing her bruises, the cuts on her forehead and the wincing every time she tries to move, doesn't help minimizing the level of his worry, but at least her sense of humor is intact and her smile calms him down.

He brushes the strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear, keeping his hand on her cheek a little longer than needed. "Catherine..." as she leans into his touch, closing her eyes for a moment, Steve lets out a relieved breath, "It's good... good to see you in one piece."

The information about the blast and injuried Navy personel made his heart race so fast, it was hard to keep his hands from shaking. Hearing her steady breathing, feeling her warm fingers in his hand, finally lifted some of the overwhelming worry from his shoulders.

"I'm fine, Steve," Cath's fingers curl around his hand tighter, "I'm okay." He nods slowly, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, her touch soothing him and helping regain the composure he hadn't even realize he lost.

"Hey, how did you even get here?" even if he had some sort of break during mission - because she knows him, he wouldn't recklessly abandon an operation, but traveling to Kabul is not the easiest trip, especially with him in his full SEAL gear.

"A bird from a nearby base had the orders to get here to take some important intel data packages and they agreed that a SEAL escort could come in handy, considering the circumstances," he answers, corners of his mouth twitching, making Cath laugh softy at his poorly constrained proud grin. "I don't have much time, two hours at most," and then long months before they'll be able to see each other again, "But-" he pauses, grinning from ear to ear, "I've got something for you. Contraband!"

Catherine raises her eyebrows, watching him bending over and unzipping one of the pockets in his camo cargos. Looking around for any unwanted witnesses, he gives her a small paper cup, slightly dented, with a plastic lid and tiny yellow spoon.

"Ice cream?" she sits up quickly, the pain in the ribs completely forgotten as her eyes fix on the sweet cup. Steve chuckles at her eagerness, she opens the lid so fast and digs in the half-melted cream with the small spoon. "Oooh, vanilla cherry," Cath humms appreciatively, licking her lips, "How did you manage to get vanila cherry ice cream in Afghanistan?"

"It's classified," his almost serious reply makes her snort.

"Of course it is," she nods, devouring another spoonful of warm dessert, licking the spoon clean. And it's so good to see her beaming, even the scratches on her face are not shading her beauty. As Steve reaches to gently touch her midriff, careful not to press on her bruised ribs, needing to feel the closeness at least for those few brief moments, she cocks her head to the side, looking up at him.

"You know," she smiles brightly, "Ice cream never tasted better."


End file.
